Page 22 of Alliance Bride
“I did, thank you.” And she had. Once she had fallen asleep, she hadn’t stirred all night.
Before she took a bite, she hesitated. Would it offend them if she prayed before she ate? She knew so little of the customs and beliefs here. Regardless, she bowed her head and silently thanked God for the food and the protection He had given her. When she finished, she lifted her spoon and blew across the steaming porridge. The heat spread through her with the first bite, chasing away some of the morning’s chill.
Around her, the family fell into lively conversation, mostly in Nordric unless they addressed her directly. She listened, trying to catch the shape of the words, but everything still felt strange.
As soon as Aevar emptied his bowl, he shifted toward her. “After you finish, we should visit the silversmith and see if he can craft our rings before the Gathering.”
Rings. She had almost forgotten since she’d returned the borrowed one during the journey, not wanting to risk losing it. She nodded and scooped another spoonful of porridge, eager not to keep him waiting. By this time, most of the family had finished, and Trygg had already wriggled free of his seat, chattering at Heida. Aevar exchanged a few words with his father, then rose and turned toward the entrance. Eadlyn gathered her cloak before following him outside.
The sky was overcast, thick fog swallowing the peaks of the mountains in the distance. A damp, chill breeze blew off the fjord, sweeping through the streets and setting Eadlyn’s teeth on edge. Still, she drank in the strange, beautiful sights around her. The rugged tree-covered slopes vanishing into the mist, the sheer cliffs along the fjord, and the sturdy timber houses braced against the cold. So different from the stone halls and crowded, dirty streets of Kenwich.
They passed several villagers along the way. Aevar offered short greetings, receiving nods or brief words in return. Eadlyn caught curious looks darting toward her as they passed. No doubt word had already spread among Runar’s people. Aevar had brought home a foreign wife.
Near the center of the village, they stepped into a low, broad building. The hot, acrid air inside made her blink. The forge at the heart of the workshop glowed, its smoke leaving the space thickwith burning coals and hot metal. Along the walls, sturdy workbenches bristled with hammers, tongs, molds, and other tools Eadlyn could not name.
A large man stood at one bench, shaping a piece of metal with careful strikes. He turned at their entrance to reveal a long blond beard braided with tiny silver beads that caught the forge-light. His wide mouth lifted into a friendly smile, and he seemed to inquire about the visit.
Aevar responded and motioned to Eadlyn. The man seemed surprised but intrigued. Aevar turned to her and said, “This is Tallak, our silversmith.”
Eadlyn offered a soft hello, hoping her tone bridged the language gap if her words did not. Tallak responded with something that sounded pleasantly close enough. Aevar spoke again, and the man nodded. With quick, sure hands, he took measurements of both their fingers. Once finished, Aevar said a few more words, and they stepped back out into the misty morning.
Aevar walked in silence at first, his strides easy and unhurried. Eadlyn lengthened her own to keep pace, watching the village life unfold around them.
“How many people live here in Fjellheim?” she asked.
He scanned the buildings. “About five hundred. We have two more clan settlements east of here, and one to the southwest. Farming villages and homesteads too, scattered between.”
She absorbed that, picturing the rugged wilderness dotted with small communities clinging to the mountains and forests. “Are there other clans nearby?”
“Yes. Jarl Halbjorn’s clan is just north of us. He’s a good man and a friend to my father. He holds a lot of sway with the other clans. And Jarl Staegar is farther down the fjord.” He jerked athumb over his shoulder. “He would be king himself if he could. I expect he’ll have plenty to say about the alliance at the Gathering.”
Eadlyn committed the names to memory. Halbjorn, friend. Staegar, potential threat. The knowledge settled uneasily. There would be allies here, but also enemies. She could not afford to be naïve.
Near the longhouse, movement captured her attention. A woman stood at a corner, watching them. Eadlyn recognized her at once—the striking woman she had glimpsed from horseback yesterday with the shaved hair. She wore a tunic and trousers like Heida, and a sword hung from her hip with casual ease. Her pale eyes, rimmed in black, locked onto Eadlyn, and the open hostility that burned there made the hair on the back of Eadlyn’s neck prickle. They didn’t just hold suspicion but smoldering anger. Eadlyn drew closer to Aevar, but before she could speak, a building rose between them, and the woman vanished from sight.
Back at the longhouse, none of the other men were around. Inga and Ranvi stood at the table with two of the young slave women. Festive banners and garland lay in a heap on the tabletop between them, creating a tangle of bright colors against the worn wood.
Inga paused from sorting through the pile and addressed Aevar. “Your father and brothers went to help set up for the competitions.”
Aevar turned to Eadlyn. In that moment, he hesitated, as if he wasn’t sure whether he should leave her or stay.
“Go.” She motioned to the others. “I’m sure there’s plenty I can help with here.”
With a quick nod, Aevar turned and left the hall again.
Eadlyn crossed over to the table. “What can I do?”
“We need to untangle these so Alys and Nesta can decorate.”Inga gestured to the two young women.
Eadlyn went to work, disentangling a length of blue wool garland from the pile. When she finished, she handed it to one of the waiting girls. Before long, the hall took on a festive air as they strung garlands and banners from the balconies and wrapped them around the pillars.
As she worked, Eadlyn noted how easily Alys and Nesta interacted with Inga and Ranvi, laughing and exchanging comments. Sometimes, when they spoke amongst themselves, Eadlyn caught snatches of Aerlish, confirming her suspicion they were from one of the southern kingdoms.
When they finished the decorations, she moved to the hearth. Burning pine filled her nose as she extended her hands toward the flames, the heat prickling at her fingertips. She let it soak into her skin, trying to push back the chill that had sunk deep since she arrived. One of the slave girls appeared a moment later with two pieces of wood cradled in her arms. She crouched to lay them on the fire.
“You’re Alys?” Eadlyn asked.
The girl dipped her head. “Yes, my lady. Nesta is my sister.”
